


221 Baker Street

by Blackwolfhunting



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Auror Harry Potter, BAMF Greg Lestrade, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Castle TV, Character Death, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John Needs A Hug, John Whump, Many Deaths, More Tags to come as more stories are Posted, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, One Shot Collection, Pokemon, Protective Greg Lestrade, Protective John Watson, Protective Mycroft, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, Sherlock Whump, There's a murder afoot, Wizard John Watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwolfhunting/pseuds/Blackwolfhunting
Summary: A collection of oneshots that i'll add to as I am hit with inspiration. Enjoy.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	1. Stress

To say that that day had been one hell of a day would have been a flat and complete lie. John would dare anyone to try and tell him that because he would look at them and tell them it was ten times worse than that and that they had no clue what true hell even looked like. 

He lived with Sherlock Holmes after all.

But to have both he and Sherlock ripped out of their bed by one DI Lestrade who had stomped into their flat and dragged them down to Scotland Yard to be debriefed and have their statements written down from an investigation. 

An investigation that had been solved by Sherlock himself. 

Normally they didn’t have to do all of this at the Yard but for some reason the DI was in a foul mood and wouldn’t allow them to do so. Because of that he had dragged them out of their home at five in the goddamn morning.

Not only that but John had suffered severe nightmares that other night and had to stay up a good portion of the night between waking and then falling asleep to his nightmares once more. Even with Sherlock playing his violin, his nightmares had not abated for one reason or another the night before. 

And to add onto that annoyance, it was raining and freezing cold when he woke up to Lestrade yelling for the two of them to get up. 

Unfortunately Sherlock had just gotten up and left with the DI, forcing John to follow behind as well. 

In a foul mood.

So he was sure that his attitude would be forgiven as soon as Sergeant Donovan opened her mouth.

“The Freak is back.” She sneered at the Consulting Detective as if he was a bug on the bottom of her new and expensive high heeled shoes. “What does he want now?”

John clenched his jaw as he shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking from how tightly clenched he had them. 

“To fill out their statements on the last case and capture of the suspect.” Lestrade grouched out as he ushered the two towards his office. Sherlock had placed himself behind John so that he would be the last to leave the room. Normally the man was right at the front of the line but this time he was staying behind John.

Which irritated the veteran even more for reasons he could not fathom.

“Good, get the freak away from us normal hard working cops.” Donovan spat at three of them.

That’s it. He’d had enough.

He turned on his heel and marched over to Donavan, avoiding Sherlock’s reaching grasp to his arm as he did so. “You want to say that again?” John growled as he got into the woman’s face forcefully.

“Say what again?” She questioned with a frown and a flickered glance behind him, most likely to Lestrade to see what he wanted her to do. 

“That Sherlock Holmes, the man that Scotland Yard calls on to do their damn jobs for them, is a freak that should go and disappear.” John snarled as he began to back the woman backwards just by walking forwards. They didn’t come to a stop until her back was to a wall. “That he’s a freak that shows up the half assed officers here all of the time because you can’t do your jobs without be led by the damn nose.”

The entire building fell silent as John’s face began to turn a dark red in rage and Donovan’s own face began to pale incredibly. “We….we can….can do this without the damned freak.” She spat as she got herself under control and regained her ability to fight back. Despite everything, she would not be scared of an invalided soldier that followed the freak around like a puppy.

“Really, because Lestrade calling him up at all hours of the damn day says otherwise!” John spat right back at the woman. “In fact! I bet you could go a damned week without his help to solve a murder! That’s how bloody brilliant he is! And how utterly incompetent you are!” He shouted as he took a step back to avoid the smell of Donavan’s breath. He knew that smell. “That and he doesn’t need to run away and hide in a bloody broom closet to get his coworker off.” He snarked.

Donovan’s face went pale once more as her eyes flickered to where Anderson stood near her desk, his face turning a bright red.

“John.” Sherlock called as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“No.” John whirled to look at the consulting detective and pointed his finger at the man with a glare. “If they have to treat you like a piece of trash every time you come in to assist them with a murder that they asked you to help with, than they will not get you! I will move you to a place that will appreciate what you bring than to continue to stay where you are treated like shit and an unwanted toy.” He was practically yelling at this point as his temper finally frayed into an all-out explosion.

“I do not car-“ Sherlock started to say.

“I do care!” John cut off. “You are not a dog that can be abused into doing what they want it to do and then expect to hunt for them! You are not a weapon that can be thrown into a closet and forgotten about until it’s useful again!” He exclaimed in anger. “You, despite everything you or anyone else say, are still a human goddamn being! You aren’t god or a machine! You deserve to be treated with respect like any normal human being and more so because your sight better than that useless lump of adultering piece of shit!” John pointed behind him at Donovan.

Sherlock stared at John with his normal calm gaze for a long moment before turning around to look at an amused looking Lestrade. “We will be leaving. You can come to 221B Baker Street later for our statements.” He stated before turning back to John and guiding him out of Scotland Yard by the arm. 

It was only when they were in a taxi on their way back to their flat that Sherlock spoke. 

“I do not care what they think of me.” He stated as he looked out the window at the landscape of the busy London Streets. 

“You don’t but that doesn’t mean they can say what they say.” John snapped as he looked at his friend. His best and greatest friend. Someone that had given him his life back.

“You are sleep deprived.” 

“No, I’m pissed off.”

“Because you did not sleep.” 

“Screw fucking sleep! You seem to survive just fine without it.”

“Because I do not need sleep to function properly. That is not what we are talking about at the moment.”

John growled as he threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t care Sherlock! Besides, what I said was true! You help them out when they need it and they all treat you like crap.” He growled as he remembered all the insults and the degrading insinuations they had made about the other man. 

“It does not matter John.” Sherlock said as he turned to look at him. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I have you to tell me otherwise.”

John blinked at the man before a large smile over took his face and his entire body relaxed.

He felt warm and happy for the first time in what seemed ever.

He doesn’t remember anything after that but waking up on the couch while Sherlock played his violin.


	2. Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'll see Sherlock again.

His limp was an annoyance that he despised. 

He always had and more so now. 

After the Fall- and yes the title was capitalized- his limp had returned with vengeance. He didn’t bother going to see a therapist about it and he had stopped going to see his old one a long time ago. He knew it wasn’t going to go away ever again. 

He was stuck.

But that hadn’t stopped him from running…limping his way around the city that was London. Especially as murders still happened and Scotland Yard was useless even more so without Sherlock. Though Lestrade could sometimes solve a mystery on his own, help had always been appreciated. 

Even if the help was from a high functioning Sociopath. 

Now Lestrade only had John to help him and neither of the two of them were as fast as the old Consulting Detective. But together they could solve crimes without too much of a problem. 

Lestrade would do most of the leg work while John used his contacts for more information. They normally found what they wanted that way.

John, though, knew that would end soon. 

It was why he had left his flat with Miss Hudson and escorted her to one of her many friends in the city. He made sure that she wouldn’t be returning to the flat anytime soon.

He had made sure that Lestrade was at Scotland Yard catching up on paperwork and Mycroft was out of the country.

Two and a half years since the Fall and now it was time for John to play catch up. 

He came to a stop outside of 221 Baker Street and looked up at the old building, leaning heavily against his cane. 

His home. The home that had him and Sherlock in it with Mrs. Hudson just below. The explosions, the gunshots, the clients, the drug busts. It had all been a part of his home for so long.

It was one of the best places for him to die in. 

Happily so.

Two and a half years since Sherlock fell.

That was when his limp had come back and when the game of cat and mouse had begun.

Jim Moriarty had died that day on the roof.

Sebastian Moran had lost his boss that day and had decided to exact his revenge on the only man left alive from The Game. 

He had taken the shot at John but the old soldier had been hustled into the building and so the shot had missed. By pure lock.

John had instantly knew what was going on.

A Sherlock moment, he called it.

His friend had jumped to save his life and that had almost been wasted because his limp and the shock from watching his friend fall and then dead on the pavement had almost paralyzed him completely. Jim Moriarty’s web of connections had been wide and John knew without a doubt that the man had found a competent sniper to take him out.

So John hadn’t wasted time and had gone instantly to Mycroft.

He had hit the man first, slamming his fist satisfyingly into the man’s nose and breaking it.

And then he had explained how Sherlock had been forced to jump because he had a sniper on him and most likely Mrs. Hudson and a few others as well. Those Snipers had been what forced his friend to jump.

Mycroft had stared at him in bewilderment, a look that John took satisfaction in causing, before instantly getting to work.

The snipers that had been on Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had been found and captures. 

The sniper that had been on him had disappeared.

From there John had begun to enhance his abilities at observing and had used all of that practice to help Lestrade capture murderers.

All the while tracking down his shooter. 

Between him, Mycroft, and Lestrade, they had found out that Sebastian Moran had been the sniper hired to kill John Watson.

A solider that had been honorably discharged after he had hit a IED while in tour in Afghanistan and lost his right leg. 

And just like John, the man had been thrown into a Military paid building where he was forgotten but was found by Jim Moriarty.

Just like John had been found by Sherlock Holmes. 

Two and a half years they had played a dangerous game. Taking shots at each other and getting closer all the time to killing the other. Every day they were closer and closer and closer. It was only time for when they would kill the other.

John would honestly be dead now if it hadn’t been for Sherlock’s Homeless Network. If he hadn’t of taken over and helped them where they needed, they would have ignored him, he was sure of it.

It helped that Mycroft had allowed the old soldier to have access to Sherlock’s Trust and to use it as he liked. 

He had never known his friend was pretty much a millionaire. 

But he had put that money to use and had kept the homeless network going and had even helped them with his medical knowledge and abilities.

His leg was useless but his doctoring was still the same.

They would warn him when they saw Moran, when he was getting to close to John, and they would pull him down allies and side streets when they knew the old sniper was getting ready to fire at him. 

That was how he had survived for so long. 

Because even in death, Sherlock Holmes always had his back.

But now it was time to face his opposite finally, face to face. Not through the scope of his own sniper rifle. 

John looked up at 221 Baker Street one more time before he unlocked the door and walked into his home. He relished the warmth that the building filled him with before removing his jacket and slowly making it up to 221B.

The door was unlocked. “Should I make some tea?” He asked as he hobbled into the room, heading towards the kitchen.

“A cuppa sounds nice.” The voice of one Sebastian Moran called back to him from the living room. 

John walked into the kitchen and pulled down his old mug with the chip at the bottom and pulled down an ugly neon pink one to sit beside it. He started the electric kettle and waited. “So, have you decided that this will be the end then?”

There was a sigh. “I’ve grown weary of this game.” He admitted. Johan sympathized with a nod of his head. “I am not Jim so I do not take pleasure of out witting my opponent and him out witting me for so long.”

“I can understand that.” John agreed as he put tea bags into the cups and then filled them with water. “What would you like in your tea?”

“Nothing, just bring it in.”

John grimaced as he picked up both mugs in one hand and carried them into the living room, cane still in hand. Sebastian Moran was settled in his chair, leaving Sherlock’s own open. “Here.” John said as he held out the pink cup to the man once he was settled in the leather chair. 

“Really?” The man questioned with a raised brow though he accepted the cup.

“You come into my home and I shall give you whatever cup I desire to give you.” John took a sip of his own tea while laying his cane across his lap. “So, how are we going to do this?”

“I figured I’d shoot you in the head and then leave. Maybe go to Africa or Australia.” Moran explained as he took his own sip of tea, his hand raising to point a Browning Hi Power hand gun directly at John’s face.

John looked the man over as he sipped his tea. The man was taller than John by a good foot. He was solidly built and he could see the muscles throughout his body. The artificial leg was one of those metal marathon legs. It would explain how he was able to run quickly despite having a fake leg. The man’s hair was completely white while his blue eyes were shining in exhaustion and anticipation. He looked like a much older and taller version of John really. Especially wearing the black t-shirt and green jumper over it. 

“Not a bad idea. Though I have to ask, what makes you think I’m not going to fight back?” He had many plans on how to take the other man out himself. He would not lose what Sherlock died for.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Good, because I’m not.” With that John raised his cane and pointed it at Moran, pulling the trigger that was hidden underneath his thumb.

Moran gasped in pain as the bullet entered his chest where his heart would be.

It didn’t stop the other military man from pulling the trigger on his own gun.

John gasped in pain as he stared down at his stomach.

He watched as blood blossomed across his shirt in slow fascination before the pain hit him hard.

Slow and painful and almost always fatal.

That’s what gunshot wounds were like to the stomach.

His phone was in Sherlock’s room, where he had been sleeping the past couple of years.

He grunted in pain as he tried to stand, only for his legs to give out and hit the floor. He was really happy that Mrs. Hudson was out of the building or the trauma he would have caused her would be beyond belief.

He needed his cellphone. How he had forgotten it that morning when he had escorted Mrs. Hudson was beyond him. 

He groaned as he crawled along the floor, heading straight for his room and to his cellphone. He needed it so badly. 

He could just imagine the long blood trail he was leaving behind him that would just be ghastly to clean later. He had seen many at crime scenes so he was sure his would be just as bad.

It was a painful and arduous to get to where he needed to get. It was worse than when he had walked across London on his leg when solving a case with Lestrade. But he had done that and he could do this, so he was. He wasn’t going to give up. 

So one painful drag of his arms after another, he pulled himself into his room. His cellphone was on the nightstand. It would take a little of doing but he was sure he could reach it. 

He lifted himself up onto one of his arms, as far as he could, and used his free arm to feel over the top of his nightstand. His hand scrambled over the top, feeling the grooves where Sherlock had burnt, cut, sliced, carved into the furniture forever ago. It was comforting to feel them there now as his hand felt them out for a second.

He shook his head to concentrate on what needed to be done. He felt along the bedside table again and soon his hand landed on the smooth screen of the touch screen phone Mycroft had gifted him. It had been an attempt at keeping an eye on him without being too obvious. With a smile full of hope he pulled it down and hit the button to unlock it.

The screen remained blank. 

The hope disappeared in an instant and he knew with all of his heart that his phone was dead.

And soon he would be too. 

He sighed as he forced his body up and then to lean back against the bed. He looked down at his body and grunted at the blood soaked clothes he was wearing. 

He wouldn’t be able to stay awake for much longer. He’d lost too much blood and the chances of internal bleeding flooding the rest of his body were high. He wouldn’t be awake for much longer and he knew it. 

“Ah well.” John said as he looked up at the ceiling, taking in the fact that it still looked the same as when Sherlock actually lived in the room. “Guess…I’ve given…it my best.” He said as his breathing became labored and his chest constricted as it became more painful to breathe. “I wasted…your gift…Sherlock…sorry.” He apologized as he closed his eyes and thought back to when he first met Sherlock.

It had been the craziest most exciting meeting he had ever had. It had caused his heart to pump and for his adrenaline to spike.

He had loved it.

And he continued to love it throughout all of the adventures they had together. All the fun and the danger. Oh god the danger!

He was happy he had had all of those good times.

He was glad he had met all the people he had met.

Lestrade.

Molly.

Mycroft.

Donovan and even Anderson.

And he couldn’t forget Mrs. Hudson. The sweet old lady that had taken care of he and Sherlock both when they were incapable of getting even a simple gallon of milk. 

He would miss them. He smiled even as his head lolled to the side. There was only one good thing about it being the end for him. 

He’d get to see Sherlock again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Another chapter down and made for all of you to read. What did you think about it? I want to know right away so review! This actually made me tear up a little bit when I wrote this because I hate thinking that John would suffer like this but also I’d like to think that he’d take up where Sherlock left off in London and took over. With the help of a very sorry Mycroft of course.  
>  I forgot to mention that some of these oneshots could be crossovers, gender bent, slash, horror, and a lot of other things. So just a warning. There’s a reason why I’ve marked this as M for Mature, okay.


	3. I'm Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Returns home, only to find that John wasn't there.

It had been a long time since he had seen his home. 

221B Baker Street. 

He stood just at the bottom of the stairs where his best and only friend was sat up waiting for him. A friend he had missed terribly-he would tell no one this fact-and had wanted to see over the last two and a half years. 

He had been all over the world, tracking down the pieces of the web that had made up Jim Moriarty’s network of psychopaths, hired killers, manipulators, rapists, and so much more. He had taken them each down one at a time and sometimes several at a time. 

As a judge.

A policeman.

An assassin.

A cook.

And even a teacher at one point.

He had played the rolls that were needed to take down the web and after two and a half years he had finally destroyed the dastardly web that Moriarty had created.

He could finally return home to where his best friend waited for him.

“There is one thing you must know Sherlock.” Mycroft said as he looked at his brother’s back. 

“Can it not wait Mycroft? John is up there.” Sherlock said as he glanced over his shoulder to his brother. He was eager to see his blogger and friend and leave behind his brother. TO leave behind the pain and agony he had gone through the past two years to keep his friend safe.

“Sebastian Moran is still alive. He is still free.” Mycroft informed stoically.

Sherlock froze in horror as the information sunk in. Sunk in with a horrifying cold sensation taking over his stomach completely. His head ran miles ahead of him as he looked back up at the stairs with a horrible feeling in his stomach and skin and heart. 

John should have heard them talking down here.

He should have come down to see who was talking.

“Are you sure that John is home?”

Mycroft raised a brow at his brother as he swung his umbrella back and forth. “Yes. My sources have informed me that he returned five hours ago. He has stayed in since then.” 

“Has anyone else entered in from the front?” 

“No, no one.”

“What about from the back?”

“There’s a way in from the back?” The look of surprise would have gratified Sherlock if it wasn’t for the fear that now consumed him.

Sherlock did not say anything else as he ran up the stairs three at a time in urgency. He burst through the door and into the living room.

Everything was the same. All in its place. Even their chairs were still from across each other.

Only there was a body in John’s chair. 

“That would be Sebastian Moran.” Mycroft said as he came into the room as well. “It seems that John has taken care of the problem for us.” 

Sherlock said nothing as he stepped forward to the body and picked up a Brown Hi-Power hand gun before looking down at where cane lay on the floor. It was a gun as well, a gift that was most likely from Mycroft.

Which meant John’s limp had returned. 

“Where is John though?” Sherlock asked as his eyes lay upon the bloody trail that moved towards his room. 

Mycroft said nothing as Sherlock followed the trail to his room. Silent the entire way, even as his mind came to the likely scenario he would find.

John was leaning against his bed, head lolled to the right, a phone in hand that appeared to be dead. His entire from was covered in blood with said liquid pooling around his body. His body was stiff and he had been dead for a long time, probably for five hours.

The time John had come home and had not left. 

“It…seems that John fought to get help.” Mycroft stated.

Sherlock bowed his head in horror as he realized that he had kneeled right next to John and had pulled him into his arms. The hand gun lay right next to them.

“He did fighting. A death he had always wanted.” Sherlock stated as he held John’s head against his shoulder and held tight to him. “The idiot.”

“I will call Lestrade and an ambulance to remove them.” Mycroft stated stiffly as he turned and left the room.

“You weren’t supposed to leave.” Sherlock said as he looked down at the grey haired man in his arms. The body was stiff and cold. No life left within it. “You were supposed to be alive and well and waiting for me. Maybe punch me in the face when I came back you idiot.” 

He swallowed hard as he looked back down at the gun he had brought in with him. He hadn’t known why he had grabbed it at first but now he figured he did. 

He pulled out his phone and sent a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Wondering what’s going to happen? Well so do I but I think I can tell you in the next chapter. That’ll be a fun one since it’ll be about Mycroft next. If you haven’t figured it out yet, this chapter is related to the Chapter 2 so yeah. 
> 
> Review and let me know what you thought okay! I can’t wait to hear!


	4. Making Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft always gets stuck cleaning up for his little brother, even when he doesn't want to.

He had stepped out into the living room and then down the stairs to the outside. He wanted to get out and away from the scene in general. He couldn’t handle the pain he had seen in his brother’s eyes.

Not once has he ever seen Sherlock that hurt since they had to put Redbeard down. Back then he had been more open but when that infernal Red Setter had to be put down, Sherlock had shut down. He had shut out emotions and people all together. He had made sure no one got close to him ever again.

Not in high school, university, or several years of his adult life did Sherlock ever allow anyone close to him. Not even their parents or himself. He would suffer through family affairs but otherwise he would avoid it all. Even talking to Mycroft was mostly business and not family. 

Not that Mycroft could blame him. The child had been through so much that others did not under understand.

But then a miracle.

John Watson had appeared.

The old soldier had saved his brother from himself and had begun the long and arduous process of turning him more human.

He couldn’t have been more thankful to the old soldier.

And he had thanked him by allowing him to die at the hand of Moriarty’s sniper. He couldn’t protect the one person that his little brother cared about the most.

He sighed as he rubbed at his face and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

He blinked as it rung with a text message. The tone of wind chimes indicating his little brother.

‘Make it so that I and John will never be apart from each other again.’ -SH

Mycroft blinked in confusion at the text, unsure of how to take it.

Until a gunshot rung out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. So yeah…I think I really did just kill the Baker Street Boys. Ah well, what can you do? Review and let me know what you thought.


	5. Bulldog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes home to a little surprise.
> 
> Mrs. Hudson Approved.

“What is that?” 

He had been out on a case, a simple case, a three at best. HE had walked out once he had shoved it in Anderson’s face how badly he had messed up when he had wiped away some of the evidence to convict the killer. Luckily there had been more than enough evidence to catch the woman.

Typical of a suburban house wife to kill her husband and his mistress when they were caught in the act.

“Oh that, that’s Gladstone.” John said from behind the newspaper and from his chair. “I’ve already talked it over with Mrs. Hudson. She’s tickled pink by him actually.”

“Of course she is, the damn thing shares wrinkles with it.” Sherlock muttered as he walked over to his own chair, sitting on the back of it and his feet on the cushion. “But why is it here…in our flat?”

“Because I wanted it.” John replied calmly as he reached down and ran his fingers through the soft white and brown fur. 

“Do you not need to discuss this with your flat mate?” Sherlock questioned with a scowl. “Is that not what you are supposed to do?”

“Since when have we ever done things normally?” The question threw the Consulting Detective for a second before his scowl returned. 

“That is not the point.”

“Correct. The point is I got a dog and I didn’t bother asking you. Just like how you used my room and bed to host a corpse in it while seeing if it being covered in twelve blankets will affect the rate of decomposition. Six of those blankets were mine and all were burned along with the bed, pillows, frame of the bed, and the floor was replaced as well.” John stated matter of fact. “All without asking me.” 

The pout on the detective’s face was of epic proportions as he had a staring contest with the dog. “You are taking care of it.” He stated a moment later. “And I paid for all the replacements and repairs to your room.” 

“I am and you did.” John agreed as he set the paper aside before continuing running his hand through the fur of the dog on his lap. 

“Why a bulldog?” 

“Had one as a kid. Only lasted a week against my father but…”

“Sentiment.” The scowl was expected. 

“Mycroft told me of the Red Setter you had as a child.” John admitted calmly. “I had a look at some puppies but none of them spoke to me like this one did.” He smiled down at the puppy that was huffing at Sherlock with its own glare. 

“And how…exactly does a dog…speak to you?” Sherlock questioned with a furrowed brow and pout. “Dogs are not supposed to be able to talk the human language.” 

“He doesn’t.” John agreed before smiling down at the puppy. “But his attitude was rather out spoken when I first met him. Same breeder that had the setters had a litter of bulldogs as well. This one was off on his own, watching, observing.” 

“Observing?” Sherlock looked back down at the puppy and was surprise to meet intelligent brown eyes that were watching him closely. As if judging him from the way he was sitting and standing.

He thought that he might understand how people felt whenever he looked them over intently now. “Yes, he was just watching. I don’t know if he was going to do something but it was rather adorable and reminded me of someone.” 

Sherlock stood up and walked over to John before picking up the puppy and holding it so that they were now staring each other in the eyes. 

John had to smother a laugh at the identical glares the two were giving the other. It really was adorable and cute at the same time. 

“What is its name?”

“Gladstone.” 

“After God’s Only Mistake?”

“Yes. Disraeli was my other option but I thought Gladstone would be a much better choice.”

“Victorian England, two men who battled to be prime minister. One would go into office, then the next, and so it would continue. Why would you name it that though? What sentiment do you have to it?” Sherlock’s gaze did not turn away from the puppy and the puppy did the same. 

“Nothing. It was just something I found interesting in history like forever ago. I’m surprised you know something of it actually.” John raised a brow at that piece of information. He was talking about the man that didn’t know who the current prime minister was.

Sherlock just huffed, the puppy huffed at him. 

John could only smile as Sherlock took the puppy and settled down in his chair with the puppy in his lap. It looked as if it was the making of a man and man’s best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. I thought a happy oneshot was in order after the upheaval of our hearts the last few ones. I had always thought having a puppy for the two would be great and I went with the typical bulldog just because it was so the Baker Street Boys, like for real. It was great. I feel so much happier now because of this one.   
>  So review and let me know what you think about it! Okay! I can’t wait to hear about what you all think!


	6. Meeting an Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does not appreciate meeting Castle.

“Do it again! Do it again!” 

“John! Get this child off of me!” 

Said blogger sighed as he rubbed at his forehead in annoyance. “Sonofa…I started this trip with one child but now I have two.” He groaned as he tried to figure out how he got stuck in such a ridiculous situation in the first place.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Castle will wear himself out at one point and find something new and shiny to play with.” The detective that had arrested them explained. And how that had a hilarious tale to it but John sure in hell wasn’t going to laugh about it.

“Yeah, Sherlock is the same way. That or he’ll start talking to me and not realize I’m not actually there.” He replied as he took the coffee cup that the detective held out to him. “I’m sorry, but can you tell me what your name is again? I fear that the forced occupancy with two childlike men has detracted me from listening properly.”

“Kate Beckett. Homicide Detective of the NYPD.” She introduced once more with a hand held out to him.

“Captain John Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.” He offered as he shook her hand. Her hold was firm but she didn’t try and force his hand underneath hers. She saw him as an equal, probably saw most people as an equal. He liked her already. “Who is that annoying Sherlock anyways and why is he so excited about him?”

“That’s Richard Castle. A consultant for us and an author. His ideas can be sometimes outlandish or completely insane, but they can be useful at times.” She explained as she sipped at her own coffee happily. She was really happy Castle had purchased that espresso machine for them forever ago. “He’s been reading your blog and he’s wanted to meet Sherlock Holmes for some time now.”

“He’ll get torn down at the rate he’s going.” John warned, remembering how the consulting detective had torn an officer apart after they had been stopped from chasing down a pickpocket that had somehow gotten a hold of John’s wallet. They got it back…but then had ran into a murder in the park.

Where this said detective had arrested them because Sherlock had torn down several of the officers and then given evidence that apparently had placed both he and Sherlock at the time of the murder.

Despite what Sherlock had wanted, John had used his one phone call to get a hold of Mycroft. He was not about to sit in a jail cell because his flat mate refused to call for help from his brother. Despite said brother being a prick about everything. 

“I can’t wait to watch.” Beckett said with a smirk as she settled against her desk and watched the show.

John only rolled his eyes before he too got comfy next to her and sipped at his coffee. It was never tiring for him to see Sherlock do his thing. No matter how bad he got.

“Come on! Do me! I know you can! I’ve read the blog!” Castle exclaimed as he circled the Detective like a shark waiting for the first bit of blood. Beckett was sure he had his recorder in his pocket at the moment to get a famous deduction and use it in one of his novels. She could already see a character that could tear Nikki Heat apart just for the fun of it. “I bet you could figure out what I had for breakfast with just a glance.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! There would be no point in deducing something as idiotic as that to prove a point.” Sherlock snapped as he stood up straight and glared at the author. “Will it get you to go away?”

“Most likely.” Castle stated. “After you tore that cop to pieces and sent him crying out of the room, I’m sure you could do the same to me.”

“You had omelets with ham, cheese, peppers, bacon, and ketchup. A tall glass of milk went with it. You were married but divorced not too long after your daughter was born, who of which is in your custody because the mother is unsuitable and irresponsible. Your mother lives with you and you both adore and hate that fact at the same time. You are an author and have written several best sellers and enjoy the publicity. Though you are a danger junkie like John and must be where all the action is at all times, hence why you are a consultant for the police department. And then you are also sleeping with the detective standing next to John and have been for some time….bit bad?” Sherlock turned to John when the entire station went completely silent.

“Bit bad.” John agreed bemusedly as Beckett and Castle both went red in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. and the first crossover is here! A Castle and Sherlock crossover that I thought would be fun to write. I’ve always loved Castle just because he’s absolutely annoyingly fun. Not to mention he’s hot as hell too! Just like Sherlock and John. At least in my opinion he is. 
> 
> Anyways, review and let me know what you think about this chapter!


	7. Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is told what happened.

It been a difficult thing to come upon after having been told by Mycroft. It would never get better either.

He had shown up to 221B when Sherlock’s brother had called and told him what had happened. That the killer was dead in his attempt at killing John and the soldier had died trying to call for help. 

He should have known better when John had come by the other day to see him. The man hardly ever came by Scotland Yard for a social visit. Only when a case was up, otherwise it was too hard for him to make the trip too terribly often. His limp had come back directly after Sherlock had jumped. 

The poor sod.

And now he had to come by and see Government officials and professional looking cleaners running around and cleaning everything up. Bagging and tagging and taking pictures. It was obvious that Mycroft had taken control and jurisdiction out of his hands. 

That pissed him off.

But he had allowed it as he had felt his legs just about give when he saw a body bag being removed from the building.

Thank god Mrs. Hudson hadn’t been home.

Even now, after all the funeral arrangements had been made and the actual service was happening, he still couldn’t believe it.

John Watson was dead.

He no longer had any connection to Sherlock or John. 

He glanced over to where Mrs. Hudson stood with Mrs. Turner and Harry, all three sobbing uncontrollably as they watched the urn be lowered into the ground.

It was ridiculously big as well. With a green and blue swirl patter that seemed to have some constellations imprinted as well. It was beautiful but also saddening to see. 

He stood silently as the urn was lowered and the ground covered once more. The priest finished and people began to scatter. The three women were herded away and out of the pouring rain. It shouldn’t have been raining that day but apparently the weather forecast had been wrong. Nothing new.

“I’m surprised you’ve stuck around.” He said as he glanced to the side where Mycroft Holmes stood with his umbrella at his side. He didn’t seem to care that he was getting wet.

“I had to say goodbye to them.” Was returned, confusing the DI.

“Them?”

“Yes, them.” Mycroft stated as he kneeled onto the ground and laid a hand on the headstone, glancing to the side where a similar one stood. “There is something I must inform you of and I am certain that you will not like it.”

Lestrade was on edge now. Whenever Mycroft said stuff like that, it was never good, ever. He looked at John’s head stone and then to the side where Sherlock’s own was stood. “Why was the urn so big?

He wasn’t even sure why he asked that but he felt it was important to know, even if he didn’t understand. “It is because Sherlock’s own ashes were inside of it as well.” Mycroft’s face twisted in an expression before smoothing out and standing up. 

“What…but…he’s been dead for…” Lestrade scrambled to speak and put his thoughts together. To try and figure out what was happening.

“No, he died the same day that John Watson did. He was the one to find the doctor dead in his apartment.” The bureaucrat glanced at Sherlock’s headstone once more before giving John’s a last look and turning away from both. He flipped his umbrella up and opened it, apparently returning to normal. “He had gone to destroy Moriarty’s web in the world. It took longer than he had expected it too. I was supposed to have been protecting John, but Moran got by my security.”

“Sherlock…was alive…and you didn’t tell John!” Lestrade shouted, he could feel his face turning red in indignation for himself and for his lost friend. “That could have made him fight even harder! Struggle to stay alive!” 

“He did try Detective Inspector, but the wound was too bad and by the time his phone had been charged and turned back on, it would have been too late anyways.” The dead tone the other spoke with told of regret and self-hatred. “It does not matter now though, for Sherlock is truly dead now. I’ve fulfilled both of their final wishes and I do not need to look back at this unfortunate tragedy. Goodbye Detective Inspector, this will be the last we meet.”

With that, the British Government disappeared into the rain where Lestrade was sure the ever black car was waiting for him.

Lestrade turned back to the gravestone with a sigh and rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “You bloody bastard.” He muttered before smacking the gravestone solidly. “How dare you do that to me and John and Mrs. Hudson. How dare you.”

He stood there with his hand on the gravestone for a long time. “At least….at least you two are back together.” 

With that he walked away with one of the biggest and saddest secrets he will ever keep for Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

And regret that John never knew that his friend was alive in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. This chapter goes with Ch. 2,3, and 4. Sad and I’m feeling kinda guilty about that one. A lot of shit was put on Lestrade throughout his acquaintance with Sherlock and it just seems like the DI is forever going to have to deal with shit from the Holmes and Watsons. Annoying as it seems. Anyways I love that man because of the shit he puts up with from the two. Always great to have a loyal police dog on your side. Review and let me know what you all thought about this chapter!


	8. Childish Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock enjoys Rosie's company.

It had been a long day. 

A long week.

A long month. 

He hated the thought of leaving the flat but he had to run to the store for essentials. Rosie had to be left behind because she had been taking her nap.

Sherlock had been left in charge of the little girl while John kip out real quick for the milk and whatnot. He trusted the detective to call if something was wrong and he trusted him to keep the girl away from all the dangerous experiments that littered Sherlock’s room. The more benign ones were on the kitchen table and kept well out of reach.

Which was one of the few things that Sherlock would do to help in raising Rosie. Most of the heavy lifting was done by John. Which meant that all the parenting and disciplining and potty training was done by John.

And the last month had been hard, more so than normal.

Cases had piled up fast and Rosie had spent most of the month sick from everything that a child could catch. It was ridiculous how often a five year old could get sick in this day and age.

The worse had been the mono that she had caught from her preschool and had spent one and a half weeks in the hospital because her tonsils had swollen so much that they had to be removed. The antibiotics and fluids sent into her little veins through IV had terrified John more so than ever.

It didn’t help that at near the end of the month, after Rosie had been discharged from the hospital, Sherlock had been shot in the thigh. It was a clear through shot though and no complications, so he was out relatively quickly despite the Doctors wanting him to stay in the hospital for a week. John was surprised the consulting detective had made it a day and a night. 

So he was exhausted and knew that he was catching either the flu or a stomach virus due to all the stress. He’d be fully sick within a week, maybe less if Sherlock continued his childish pouting. 

The man was getting bored and it was verily obvious. John had to beg Lestrade for cold cases just so he could distract Sherlock for at least an hour if not more. He’d been doing all of the legwork of course, which was tiring him even quicker. Mrs. Hudson helped care for Rosie when he was out running around like a chicken with its head cut off. 

He sighed as he unlocked the door and dumped the groceries on the kitchen table. The flat was quiet, which meant one of two things at the moment.

Both Sherlock and Rosie were asleep.

Or Sherlock had snuck out of the flat with Rosie and was doing something incredibly stupid at the moment that would make John want to throttle the man. 

John prayed that it was the first one. He didn’t think he could handle anymore stupidity from Sherlock at the moment. 

“Sherlock? Has Rosie woken up?” He called out to his friend, wondering if the other would answer or ignore him. He hurriedly put away the milk and then began to put other things away as well. He didn’t want to let the milk or the butter go to waste just because he couldn’t get it put up fast enough. 

Which had happened once when Sherlock had dragged him out of the building for a case. He had made Sherlock go with him to the store after that time. Punishment for wasting food he supposed.

He didn’t get a reply. “Sherlock?” He called again after he was done, getting nervous the longer no one replied. “Sherlock I swear if you’re showing Rosie another body, I’m going to…”

He trailed off as he came into the living room fully and was able to look at the couch, a smile forming on his face happily. 

On the sofa lay Sherlock. He was fully stretched out with his wounded leg up on a pillow to keep it elevated. The cast that was placed there on his leg almost reached his hip and had little doodles on it from everyone who could stand Sherlock. That and pink looked grand on the man. Matched his blue gown and pajamas nicely. 

It was obvious the man was asleep. Probably from the pain pills, the bottle was sitting on the coffee table, child safety lid securely on. The man had been careful to make sure the lid was on tight, which told John a lot about the other and his concern for the child.

But that wasn’t what made John smile. No, it was what Sherlock had settled on his chest.

He knew that when the man woke up, he’d grumble over the growing puddle of drool on his shirt.

He quickly pulled out his phone and pulled up his camera, taking several pictures before the other could wake. He’d have to save them all to different places so that Sherlock wouldn’t delete them, because he was sure that’s what the Consulting Detective would do.

After all, the man always hated to admit the paternal instincts he had to little Rosie.

He’d never forget finding one Sherlock Holmes asleep on their couch with the little girl laying on his chest, head pillowed on his shoulder, and hand on her back. 

John stared down at the two fondly, thinking of how well they looked like a father and his daughter. 

He didn’t even mind that thought one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. A cute oneshot I thought. That and a picture I found on Tumblr. ~SH♥JW~ on Tumblr. They’ve got some cute pics there that they’ve done. Along with…some other type of ones that I liked. Go and check them out if you’re curious. If you can’t find them right away, trying sh2jw . tumblr . com. That should take you to them to see their fanart. Anyways, review and tell me what you thought of this one. I love these little cute ones. They’re so adorable.


	9. Making a Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't move. He can't Move. He can't Move. 
> 
> John would die if he did.

He couldn’t do a thing. He had to lay there on the ground and watch his friend shout in horror and pain. He had to watch as all of John’s PTSD flared up the other man stumbled towards him. His limp was already back and his leg was dragging painfully behind him.

He didn’t want that to have occurred, but it had. Having the person that had fixed the limp die right in front of him….it had always been a possibility. 

God how he wanted to move to help his friend, his only friend, and his best friend. But the sniper was still in the area, watching everything that happened. He couldn’t move to help him. He just couldn’t. He had to stay still and wait until the sniper disappeared and until everything else was in motion. 

Damn it all. He hated it. 

He almost jumped when he heard the gunshot. 

Luckily he held extremely still.

But John had fallen to the ground with a cry out in pain. 

John had been shot. The sniper had shot John. 

It didn’t seem fatal. 

Right shoulder wound. Through and through. John would be okay.

He couldn’t move. He had to wait until they were moved away from the scene and out of the sight of the sniper.

He wouldn’t risk his friends’ lives just because one had been injured.

It killed him inside a little to watch John grit his teeth as pressure was applied to his shoulder. 

God he wanted to help the man. 

But he couldn’t.

He had to wait.

He couldn’t risk them like that. The snipers were still watching them. Waiting for one false move on his part.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t help his friend.

God he hated Moriarty.

He hated not moving.

He hated not being able to help his only and best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Haha! Another one shot. This one is way short but that’s okay. It’s meant to be. Anyways! Review and tell me what you thought of that one! I can’t wait to hear from you guys!


	10. The Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's side of the night at Baskerville

He could hear the hounds at Baskerville. On their tail as they took off in the opposite direction. 

Damn Mycroft to hell and back. The bastard had decided that the third visit to the labs was pushing it and so had revoked their entrance to the facility. Something that John was going to yell at the man for because really, who called the hounds on their own brother?

Though he supposed that Sherlock would do the same thing to the fat bastard himself if he ever got the chance.

Damn it, he was around Sherlock too much to be calling Mycroft fat. Oh, look, there’s a damn German Shepard right behind them barking up a storm.

“They’re catching up.” John shouted as he pushed himself to move faster. His leg was cramping though and it was irritating him beyond belief. “Damn my leg!” He shouted as he pushed pass the pain and moved so that he was now even with Sherlock.

“We need to lose them.” 

“No, really?! I thought we needed to stop and play with the puppies.”

“Come now John, sarcasm isn’t needed at the moment.”

“Then keep moving and come up with a plan!” 

“It’ll be dark soon John, we need to get up high somewhere so that we can escape their attacks.”

John blinked as he looked out to the sky in between the trees of the forest. It was already getting dark. The moon would be up tonight.

A full moon.

“Damn it! Split up Sherlock. We’ll meet up at the bed as soon as we possibly can.” He growled as he turned abruptly and went in a different direction. He ignored Sherlock as he disappeared into the forest.

He had to get away from the other man before it happened. He couldn’t let it happen in front of the other man, he’d be hated just like all the other times. 

It was one of the reasons why Harry drank so much in the first place if not the main reason. So he ran away from his friend, ignoring the yells for his name and the sounds of the man trying to keep up with him. 

He knew that this close to his time that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to catch up at all. He’d be stuck back there and hopefully he’d try and take a separate path to try and cut him off. In which case John had a plan.

He stopped and held still and waited. Sherlock was stopped himself, most likely trying to hear him, and when the other man didn’t he turned to do what John thought he’d do. Try and cut John off by taking a direction he thought the soldier would take. 

Perfect.

With that he shed his clothes and folded them up, hiding them in a bush with his shoes and watch. He couldn’t risk tearing them and having to walk to the bed naked. Sherlock would beat him there anyways.

Just in time too. The sun had gone all the way down and the fully bright moon was shining up in the sky.

He growled as he felt the first shift of his body. His bones snapped angrily before rearranging and shifting, forcing him to fall onto his hands that were changing as well. His tailbone lengthened and soon fur was sprouting all over his body. His mouth and nose began to lengthen and elongate further as his teeth sharpened and readjusted to fit into the muzzle. His eyes dilated from both the pain and the darkness surrounding him.

It was a long few minutes that felt like hours, but soon the shift ended and he reared his head back and let out a long howl out to the moon.

He growled as barks reached his sensitive ears. Other predators in his temporary territory were not permitted. He didn’t care if they were hunting or if they were already here before he was. This territory was his for the time and he was going to make sure that they knew it.

He moved towards the sounds of other canines, growling low in his throat, nose in the air to take in the scent, and instincts already flaring to tear those impudent creatures to pieces.

He wouldn’t let them trespass.

His eyes narrowed as a new scent came to him, brought by the breeze of the night. It was tangy and salty, a scent he knew well from past kills. Those other canines had injured something, but it wasn’t just an animal or small creature.

No, the scent was one he knew intimately. He spent days breathing it in back in his den. It was the scent of his pack mate. It was one of his kin and he had been injured. 

He snarled as he followed the scent to where his pack mate was with the others that dared to hurt him. 

He would tear them to pieces before they could do anything about it.

He ran through the forest, the scent of blood and anxiety soaking the air. The sounds of the dogs getting louder. Soon he was right on top of where they were.

His pack mate wasn’t anywhere to be seen but the hounds that had clearly chased him were at the bottom of a tree, barking up into the branches. That must be where the pack mate was. Trapped in the trees and unable to run or fight from his position.

So he’d do it for him instead.

Without a second of hesitation, he jumped forward and tore through the neck of the first dog. 

Blood spattered everywhere, soaking the ground anything near him in an instant. He spat his prey out of his mouth before leaping at the next. Ignoring the sting of one of the dogs leaping onto his back and biting into his spine. He grabbed the second one by the scruff of its neck and threw it into a tree, the sound of something cracking pleasing to his ears.

He rolled a second later and crushed the third one with his weight. Much heavier than most wolves and yet still small enough to maneuver when the fourth and final dog tried to bite at his throat, avoiding the attack by back pedaling away from it. Though he didn’t give it a chance as he bunched his muscles tightly and leapt on top of the other creature and ripping along its spine and tearing the vertebra almost completely out of the body before slamming a paw on its head and crushing it beneath his strength.

He licked the blood off of his muzzle the best he could before looking around and listening intently. There was no real sounds besides the wind and the breathes of his pack mate still up in the tree. Silence for a long moment.

But then voices. Footsteps heading in this direction. Shouts of orders. HE snarled at the sounds before leaping in the direction they were coming from. He needed to protect his pack mate at all cost. There was no way he was going to allow the other to be injured any more than he was. 

He was going to tear apart the threat with all he was and make sure they were safe. 

Even at the cost of himself.

So with that in mind, he slid into the darkness to take out the threats permanently. They would not know what hit them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. I so have been wanting to do a werewolf one for a long time! I’m happy so far and the second part is going to come up next! I can’t wait! It’ll be in Sherlock’s point of view! So review and tell me what you all thought about it!


	11. Creatures of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's side of the night at Baskerville

“John! Wait!” Sherlock shouted as he turned in the direction his friend had run off in. The soldier’s speed had increased and he could hardly keep up. Which shouldn’t be possible due to the fact that Sherlock had the long legs and longer stride, so he should have logically been able to catch up with little trouble. 

But that wasn’t the case. The blonde soon disappeared into the trees, the sounds of dogs behind becoming louder, the longer Sherlock stood there, calculating. 

He’d be able to cut John off if he went in an angle towards the Bed and Breakfast they were staying in. That would be the direction the soldier would take and he had stated that he was going to meet up at the Bed as soon as possible. He’d rather stick together though because he knew that John’s leg was starting to bother him, aching from the rough treatment of the forest floor most likely. They were used to running along asphalt and concrete, not uneven ground littered with holes. 

So he had to catch up with John as soon as possible.

Which wouldn’t happen when two dogs leapt out of the bushes behind him, snarling viciously at him. “Damn.” He muttered as he ran into the forest, ignoring the way he had chosen to meet up with John and instead in the exact opposite direction. He wasn’t about to lead these hounds to his friend no matter what. The man could run but he was sure it would end at some point and he’d be on the ground, nursing the phantom pain in his leg.

So he ran away from John and ran and ran. The dogs were right behind him still and had gained on him. He could feel the nips of almost bites on the back of his thighs, calf, and buttocks. He had to move faster but he was unfamiliar with this forest and so he couldn’t navigate as well as he could in London. 

Which led to the horrible end of one of the dogs ripping into his leg and dragging him to the forest floor. He grunted as his hands scrapped along the rocks and sticks that littered the ground as the dog ripped his head back and forth, ripping his leg apart further. 

He didn’t wait for the other dogs to leap on him though as he kicked the one in the face with his foot, making it release him long enough for him to stand and leapt up onto a branch of a tree, pulling himself further up so that the animals wouldn’t be able to grab a hold of him.

Not that it had helped climbing the tree. He had just basically trapped himself up in the foliage. The security at Baskerville would get him if not the dogs down below. 

He looked around, trying to see if he could leap to a different tree but he had somehow picked the only tree that was so far placed from others that trying to leap would end up with injury and attacked by dogs once more. It would be more prudent to just wait until the guards came or John came to see what was taking so long. Though that thought left him strangely worried for the soldier. 

He didn’t want the man to get hurt because he had to help Sherlock. He had already been attacked and covered in explosives because he was Sherlock’s friend. He didn’t want anything else to happen to him.

A howl distracted him for a long moment, frozen in fear as he remembered the ghastly figure of a hound with glowing red eyes and glowing slightly. It was a terrifying thought that it was heading this way towards him to finish him off.

He shook his head as he looked down at the snarling and barking dogs, wondering if he could somehow distract them. He didn’t have food or snacks on him at the moment. He had no chemicals that he could use and no real device that could do anything close to distracting the mutts.

His leg pulsed with pain as his mind drifted away from his situation. He looked down and saw his pant leg was torn and soaked with blood while the wound was gaping and swollen. He feared infection if he didn’t try and stop the bleeding and the exposure to the forest air. 

Sherlock quickly pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around his leg, binding the wound the best he could with what he had. Biting back a groan, he almost missed the sound of a snarl and yelp of a dog down below due to the pain he felt.

HE looked down and watched with wide eyes as a large wolf tore the head of the dog clear off of its neck and spitting it away like garbage. The wolf didn’t even seem to notice as one of the dogs jumped onto its back, biting along its spine, before tearing into another one of the dog’s back and almost completely ripping out the vertebrae and then stomping the skull with such a fierce move that Sherlock could only imagine what would happen to his own if he got in the way of this creature.

It wasn’t done though as it rolled, crushing the dog on its back. It had to move quickly backwards though as the fourth and final dog leapt towards it, intent on tearing its throat clean out. It was able to dodge before ripping that fourth dog apart, leaving all the security dogs dead in a mere minute if not less. 

Once all was still and quiet, Sherlock was finally able to get a look at the creature with the help of the full moon through the branches of the tress.

A blonde grayish color was its fur, grey around the muzzle, eyes, and paws than anywhere else. It was large as well, too large than what a wolf should’ve been. For that’s what it was. A wolf of some sort. A breed he had never seen before. 

Large and full of muscles. Powerful hunches moved around easily and gracefully, though one front leg seemed to almost drag across the ground, as if damage in a past fight. A little bulge at the shoulder could mean scaring or a tumor of some sort. 

He almost gasped when the creature looked up into the tree, almost as if it could see him and knew he was there. Blue intelligent eyes shined up at him, almost familiar, as if he had seen them somewhere before. He shook his head and blinked as he tried to ignore that feeling.

Then a growl as shouts and voices and footsteps moved closer to the pair. Sherlock gulped as he thought about the officers facing the creature on the ground because for some reason he knew, he knew that they wouldn’t be strong enough to take it down.

They would fall to the might of this beast within a second. 

He watched as the wolf disappeared in the direction of the voices and all Sherlock could really think was that he hoped that it would make their deaths quick and painless.

221B Baker Street

He had been walking for some time, an hour or two, he thinks, but he still hadn’t reached the bed and breakfast yet. His leg was preventing him from walking properly and he had to take a break here and there once in a while. 

He huffed in frustration as he wiped sweat from his face and continued walking, limping heavily as the pain seemed to intensify the more he walked and put weight on it. John would kill him when they finally met up again, but there was nothing for it.

A grunt as he slipped on the grass now covered in dew. He was going to hit the ground hard at this point and he knew it. He sighed mentally as his body slid forward towards the ground.

Only to grunt in surprise when he landed against a warm and furry body, stopping his fall to the ground. 

Sherlock blinked in surprise as he looked down at the coarse blonde fur and then to the head that was turned to stare at him with those bright blue eyes. “Shit.” He muttered as the wolf huffed at him before nosing him firmly back onto his feet while leaning against it. 

HE remembered how this creature tore apart those dogs and the screams of the humans as they were torn apart as well. Not even the gunshots seemed to phase this creature. So why was it that it was here helping him now? Why was it here allowing him to lean against it like it was a domesticated pet dog? Like Redbeard his red setter. 

And those eyes. So intelligent, more so than any creature he had met beforehand. Not to mention that this wolf obviously was not the hound. Nowhere near the image he had seen of the hound that night that seemed years ago but was really only two days ago. “Who and what are you?” he questioned aloud as the creature began to walk and Sherlock was forced to limp along or be left behind.

“You are obviously a wolf of some breed, but most don’t come up to a person’s chest. Not like you do.” He continued, ignoring the rumbling of the wolf. He wasn’t sure if it was growling or even laughing at him. “Hush you. You don’t get to laugh at me when you are some sort of mutation or experiment or something.” He groaned when he took a step and it sent a pulse of pain through his leg.

The wolf stopped and looked at him once more before lowering his body and nudging at Sherlock. He raised a brow at the beast in disbelief. “I don’t think most would allow anyone to ride them as a horse.” He stated as well but did not refuse the offer and threw a leg over the beast and held on to the fur at its neck so that he wouldn’t fall off. “Why are you helping me when you tore those guards apart?” he wondered next as he watched the forest pass by from the view of the wolf. 

He frowned when he felt a wet spot on his wrist. He looked towards it and saw a bloody spot just above its right shoulder. He frowned. “You’re injured.” He stated as he looked at the still fluid movements. 

The beast didn’t make a sound, just continued moving forward, heading somewhere that seemed to be away from the bed and breakfast he and John were staying at.

John…he wondered if the other man had made it to the hotel yet. Maybe he was pacing back and forth in their room cursing up a storm. Worried most likely for Sherlock’s safety and Sanity. Both of which were in question at the beginning of the night.

He shook his head when the wolf stopped at a bush and was nosing around the area, looking for something. He blinked as the rustle of clothes reached his ears and he craned his neck to watch as the wolf gently and gingerly removed a pile of clothes out of the bush, dropping the shoes and socks as it lost its grip on them. 

It couldn’t be. Sherlock slid off the back of the creature and stumbled so that he could drop to his knees next to creature. He quickly reached for one of the shoes and looked at it. Practical boots that the soldier had worn in the forest, stating that his combat boots would be better than his leather loafers. 

Sherlock then looked around to see the clothes that the wolf held in its jaws and blinked in horror before turning to meet the overly intelligent and familiar blue eyes.

Yes, they were his. With a more animalistic feel and more reckless but still John. His friend. The man that had saved his life multiple times.

Looks like he had saved Sherlock once more. 

“You have some explaining to do when you’ve returned to normal John.” Sherlock said with a smirk as he took the clothes and picked up the shoes. “But till then, why don’t you take me to the Bed and Breakfast.”

John only gave a huff before lowering his body to the ground once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Got another one done! This one was really fun! I’m so glad I wrote it because you don’t’ see a whole lot of werewolf stories too much. At least, I haven’t found any but then again I have really gone out of my way to find them either…I really should see if I can’t find them. Anyways, review and tell me what you thought! I can’t wait to hear from you all. Until next time. 
> 
> This chapter is the continuation of chapter ten.


	12. Meet the Police Mascot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decided it was a great idea to bring Gladstone to the Yard.

They had come into the station to fill out a police report.

That was it. 

That was all they were supposed to be here for.

John should have known better because whenever he was with Sherlock, all of his plans and expectations were skewered dead with a harpoon. Ah, the life of being Sherlock Holmes’s best friend.

He glared at the huddle of police officers, surrounding Sherlock with worried frowns, smiles, worry, confusion, and worry. Did he mention the worry?  
He could understand the worry a great deal, but at the same time he felt a little insulted. Did they really think he would put another living thing in danger like that? He knew what Sherlock was like but he also knew exactly what Sherlock would do with the puppy as well.  
Besides, Sherlock and Gladstone got along like fish and water. 

“Who would let you have a dog?” Donovan snarked as she watched from her desk. It was obvious that she herself was confused and worried for the pup, but wouldn’t dare get close to Sherlock.

Not after the shit she had pulled and the chewing out that John had handed out months ago. Bitch seemed to have learned something at least.  
“It does not belong to me.” Sherlock said even as the puppy huffed from his arms. Why he had insisted on bringing it to the station, John would never know. “It belongs to John as he insisted on bringing it home without speaking with me.”

John just raised an eyebrow from the outskirts of the group, arms crossed over his chest and leaning against a nearby desk. His leg was bugging him so getting some weight off of it was nice. So he just leaned there and watched as the female officers and detectives oohed and awed over the puppy and the males all chuckled and patted the pup on the head. 

“Yes, I went and got a dog. It’s to help out with some problems is all.” He waved off the curious looks and instead looked at the group. “Don’t you all have things you need to be doing?”

“He’s right.” Lestrade finally spoke up a second later. Before either 221B resident could blink, Lestrade swept the little bulldog puppy into his own arms with a huge grin on his face. “All to have this little guy be our Mascot, say aye!” 

“AYE!” 

John’s head jerked back at the volume before shaking his head in bemusement. And then he had to watch as Sherlock wrestled the puppy away from Lestrade and back into his arms.

Really, to think this is what his life was becoming just because he had Sherlock Holmes in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Another shot done and this goes with Ch. 5 and mention of Ch. 1 was in here too. Review and tell me what you all thought! Until next time!


	13. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Begins his heat and Lestrade makes his entrance.

He was so nice and toasty. His bed was always so welcoming and comforting to him and there was no one ever that could ruin his bed for him. Not even that lunatic of a sociopath that he called his roommate. 

Scratch that, Sherlock had managed to ruin his last bed by keeping a corpse in it covered in blankets for an experiment. He had made the jerk buy a new bed and new blankets and pillows. He’d even made the berk get the entire room cleaned before he was happy.

But at the moment, he was happy and warm. For once he couldn’t hear Sherlock experimenting or yelling downstairs and so he knew he’d be able to get a lay in before he got up. 

Only that the longer he lay underneath his blanket the warmer he got. It got so warm that he kicked his blanket off, only for his clothes to start scratching against his skin as sweat began to form on his forehead. 

He whined deep in his throat as a heat burned in the pit of his stomach, causing him to arch his back to try and relieve it even a little. It only got worse though, no matter what why he turned or twisted his body, it didn’t go away.

It was only when he felt a familiar slick begin to coat the back of his thighs that he knew exactly what this was.

Which only sent his instincts into overdrive, losing any coherent thought with it.

221B Baker Street

He should have known that this was coming, but really, there was no way he could have done anything about it. Not since John had been forbidden from taking any suppressants when Sarah found him popping them like candy just before his heat a year ago. Though to be fair, it wasn’t like Sherlock kept track of them. It was a rather dull thing to try and keep in mind and besides, he already knew the routine at this point.

Though Lestrade didn’t know what was going on, made clear when the other Alpha stepped into the apartment and his nose instantly flared at the pheromones permeating the flat. “What in the bloody hell….” He trailed off as his eyes wondered over to where John was reappearing at the foot of the stairs up to his room.

Sherlock could only watch with a smirk as John stalked over to the DI and sniffed the startled man’s neck. He wondered what John would do with Lestrade as he sipped at his tea. Throw the man out or shuffle him onto the couch next to Sherlock. 

It took several seconds for John to sniff at the other before he began to rub his cheek against Lestrade’s and then against his neck, shoulders, chest, arms, hands, stomach, thighs, and back. The Consulting Detective could only laugh as the DI stood there in astonishment.

He could only laugh more when John, clearly happy with his scenting, began to shuffle the man towards the coach where he was made to sit next to Sherlock. “Good evening Detective Inspector.” Sherlock greeted in amusement just as John took off into the kitchen, a low growl in his throat.

“What the bloody hell was that?” The DI questioned as he watched the older man take off into the kitchen before returning out, a growl and snarl on his face as he stalked around the apartment restlessly. “Is he wearing your shirt?” He questioned next as he recognized the blue shirt as one that Sherlock wore when he wasn’t going anywhere. It hung off of the man and reached down to his thighs. Lestrade hoped the other man had something else on underneath that shirt because he wasn’t wearing pants or socks.

“Helps calm him somewhat.” Sherlock gave a shrug of his shoulders, eyes now looking down at his phone as he texted rapidly. “Otherwise he normally tears at himself rather ferociously.” 

“But why?” Lestrade turned to look at Sherlock, but his eyes were drug back as John moved up the stairs, steps unusually light for him as he moved. “I mean, I can tell he’s in heat, but this more a behavior fitting an Alpha in rut. Not an Omega in Heat.”

“Trauma can cause such reactions to Omegas actually.” Sherlock explained. “Though John hasn’t explained why he acts like this, I can only assume the trauma from his bullet wound has affected his heats. He becomes territorial and rather vicious when unwanted figures show up in it.” 

Lestrade looked at Sherlock in amazement. Though the term unwanted figures had him concerned. “Is that why Mrs. Hudson didn’t answer the door? She’s not wanted here by John?”

“Oh dear no.” Sherlock actually laughed at that as he sent off another text. “She doesn’t like being trapped in the apartment for a week while John suffers his heat is all.”

“Trapped?” was the next squeaked question. Lestrade couldn’t imagine being trapped in the apartment with Sherlock and an out of it John for a week straight. There just wasn’t anyway that he could handle that. “What has Mycroft gotten me into!?” He questioned with wide eyes.

For that was why he was here. The British Government had asked him to go and check on his brother and friend for him, though he hadn’t given a reason as to why. 

But being the friend of both the idiots, the request had worried him for their health. He had made the trip over with Donovan after they had closed a case earlier that day just to make sure both were okay. He figured this was the reason why in the end.

“Yes, John won’t let us leave while he’s in heat. He doesn’t remember why or remember his heat at all.” He explained calmly, his head looking up as John reappeared from the stairs with a limp this time. He sighed, already knowing that John would overwork his shoulder and leg and be in quite a bit of pain after all was said and done. “The territoriality reaches out to people as well. He’ll not let us leave the apartment at all and will follow us to the bathroom most times as well.” 

“He’s worried we’ll leave him here?” Lestrade raised a brow at that thought. John was normally a very strong person and held himself together rather well. For him to act like this was startling and worrying. 

“Quite.” Sherlock stood up and grabbed a towel from the pile that sat on Sherlock’s normal chair. He grabbed a hold of John, stilling the Omega long enough for him to see the towel in the other’s hand. Only once Sherlock was sure John could see the towel did he reach down with it and quickly wipe between the Omega’s legs and then down his thighs and calves. Lestrade hadn’t even noticed the slick had traveled that far down till right then.

Lestrade gasped as the smell of Slick reached his nose. That answered his question about whether John was wearing something other than just the T-shirt. “Do you do this…every month?” he questioned next, covering his nose until Sherlock was able to get the towel into a plastic bag and place it next to the door. The smell had increased the smell of Omega heat greatly and the feeling of his pants tightening was almost gruesome with how much it hurt. 

“Every other. John says that he has never had monthly heats, but every other month he does. Has since he was a boy apparently.” Sherlock just shrugged and allowed himself to be shuffled back to the couch by John.

Lestrade watched in awe as the normally rather distant Consulting Detective allowed his friend to scent him thoroughly. The man didn’t make a move to dissuade John or to stop him, just allowed him to do as he pleased. He even allowed the rather tender motion of John sniffing his neck and licking it before the blonde man was off walking around the apartment again.

“There’s no need to stare at me like that.” He didn’t even look up from his phone. “It calms him to scent me, so I allow it. Besides, he does not try to initiate anything beyond the licking of my neck.”

The DI’s head snapped to look at John, who had just come out of Sherlock’s room, growling low in his throat once more and that ever present snarl as well. “An Omega in heat…not initiating sex…” He whispered in horror as the dots connected in his head. How Sherlock hadn’t made the same connection yet was beyond him.

“What is it?” Sherlock’s cool grey blue eyes settled on the older man, narrowed and suspicious. “You just thought of something pertaining to John’s Heat. What is it then?” He questioned with a raised brow. To have someone know something he didn’t was rare, but not uncommon due to him deleting many things from his mind.

Lestrade gulped before moving to open his mouth, but stopping when the sounds of feet stomping up the stairs just outside of the flat. “Shit.” Lestrade stood up to go and intervene Donovan before she could come in. The Alpha in her wouldn’t be able to resist John’s Omega Heat at the moment and she would do something she would regret later.

Only he stopped when what sounded like a snarl right behind the couch sounded. “Slowly…sit…down.” Sherlock whispered as his eyes stayed riveted on the door to the room. “Slowly….DI.” 

Lestrade gulped once more before slowly, carefully, and quietly sat back on the couch. He didn’t say anything as he doubted he could keep his tone as calm and quiet as Sherlock at the moment, so he just didn’t say anything and watched the door as well.

“Don’t…do anything.” Sherlock continued to whisper as he kept his body still. He remembered what John would do if he dared moved towards the door when someone not approved by the Omega approached. He had made the mistake when he went to see why Mycroft had come during that first heat so long ago. 

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Stay…where you…are. Do not…give him…reason…to force you…to stay.” He kept his tone even and calm and quiet. He didn’t want to make this any worse than what it was about to get.

Though it had been funny when Mycroft had actually made the trip into the apartment despite John’s Pheromones telling him it wasn’t a good idea.

The scent of Donovan told him that the female Alpha probably wouldn’t be able to resist the smell of the Omega as soon as she opened the door. This was about to get vicious and humorous to watch, but he also worried. John’s leg and shoulder were already hurting into the second day of his heat. The man hadn’t stopped moving since yesterday morning and he wasn’t sure the other would have the strength to fight off an alpha.

He was about to find out.

“Don’t…interfere.” Sherlock warned with a glare at the DI, knowing the man would want to jump up and separate the two when it came to blows. “He could…very well…kill you…if you…do.” 

Lestrade nodded slowly, knowing that this warning was a rare gift. Normally Sherlock wouldn’t interfere but he figured that it was very true if he was bothering with it. He would have to hold himself back though, because Donovan was a subordinate while John was his friend. Both meant something to him in one way or another.

Either way. There was nothing he could do but watched as the door opened to reveal Donovan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. So yeah, I decided to do an Omegaverse chapter. The next one will coincide with this one so, yeah, just so you guys know. Review and tell me what you thought either way! Can’t wait to hear from you!

**Author's Note:**

> I would like everyone to think about some of the authors on Fanfiction that died recently or a while ago. Some of them died in tragic accidents or illnesses and have left stories unfinished or had others finish them for them in memory. I would like everyone reading this to lower their heads, clasp their hands together and pray for those who have been lost. Allow there to be a moment of silence for wherever you, the reader, are and remember not just the writers here on this site but those who have been lost in your life or in tragic events. 
> 
> Please remember that life is short and that you should love those in your life while you can and show your appreciation for water comes into your life.
> 
> Again, thanks to those who have lost their lives for spreading inspiration through their works.
> 
> I’ve written a story that wasn’t exactly all cuddles and snuggles and some of the comments made my blood turn to ice. I worry for those who suffer from abuse of any form or depression of any form and so I decided to look for numbers to offer to those who need them. So I hope all of those who need one or more of these numbers will make use of them. 
> 
> You all are loved and I pray that none of you give up on your life because of the assholes around you. Know that we are here for you and all you need do is reach out and we’ll all help where we can. 
> 
> Suicide: 1-800-273-8255  
>  Bullying: 1-800-420-1479  
>  Self-Harm:1-800-366-8288  
>  Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673  
>  Lifeline: 1-800-784-8433  
>  Greif Support: 1-650-321-3438  
>  Depression: 1-630-482-9696  
>  Drug/Alcohol: 1-877-235-4525  
>  Eating Disorder: 1-630-577-1330  
>  Mental Health: 1-800-442-9673  
>  Abuse: 1-800-799-7233


End file.
